The World Is Ours
by beachchick3
Summary: Valentine Morgenstern had kept one more lie from his beloved Jocelyn. The one where Jonathan was not alone, in fact he had a constant shadow that wanted to tear off his head just as much as Clary and Jace. This is the tale of Seraphina Morgenstern, Jonathan's sister and twin. This is her story.
1. Watch Your Step

**Here is my older fic about Jonathan and his twin sister Seraphina, and was done completely for fun with no purpose of coming on here~ DO NOT OWN ANYTHING, except my OC, the rest belong to Cassandra Clare.**

**IT IS PRETTY DARK AND SADISTIC I HOPE YOU ARE WARNED! **

**ENJOY! **

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**Chapter 1 **

**Watch Your Step**

* * *

**Seraphina/ Third and First POV (6 to 8 years old) **

**_On the day of February 4, 1996, Morgenstern Mansion_**

Brothers are supposed to be care.

Brothers are supposed to hunt off potential boyfriends, tell her when she is acting stupid, or to calm down her crazy hormones. They were supposed to hold your hand while crossing the street, and pick you first for kickball. They were supposed to teach you how to do things. To lift you up to drink from the water fountain, and watch cartoons on Saturday mornings. Brothers were supposed to protect. Brothers were supposed to care. Well, Jonathan was the exception. He never got that concept understood, _whip-lashing wounds and incestuous thoughts,_ could attest to that. We were supposed to be a team, but we were never meant to be, not when you were so filled with hate, so alike it was downright scary. Instead of Jonathan _at least_ caring for me, he feared and despised me. We were only six years old, and he despised me as much as he despised anything that got in the way of Father's praises.

Who knew that a person's _definition of hatred_ could be so stretched?

Being a sister to Jonathan was a burdensome fate, and I learned that the hard way. This is Jonathan Morgenstern sister's story.

Her name was Seraphina.

My first memory as a child was the uninvited and compromised meeting with Jonathan; the devil spawn.

My first memory was not the recounting of seeing my mother for the first time. It was not receiving my first mark, reminiscing on intricate lessons with my governess, dining with father or meeting Krista; my nursemaid. _No_, Jonathan was my first memory. His eyes were all I could remember, and it is unlikely I will ever forget in this life, or in the next. They were dark, like the dead of night. They reminded me of my home here. When the day had come to an end and the night or the goddess Luna had taken the reigns of Phoebus away for to his slumber. His eyes reminded me of the comfortableness I felt while probing with my carving tools in complete darkness. The heightened way my nails worked magic into the roughened clay.

But he was not like anything I ever expected, he was cruel, _in mere minutes we were fighting_, that must tell you something.

Maybe it was the fact that I had never really pretended to like him. He just infuriated me to no ends.

Maybe it was because I had never played with any children, _at all_, and did not even understand what _playing_ really entailed.

Maybe because instead of _my father_ coming alone to _my home_ in the Black Forest, he brought someone I never knew existed, my brother, _my twin brother_. But, _this was my father, my home_, and I was not going to give it up easily, not even to this boy that was my so called brother. I felt no kindred feelings when I watched him touching my projects with those dirtied hands of his.

My German came out weaker, than I would have hoped, "_I don't have a brother_,_ and I don't want one_." I spoke to father in whispers while eyeing the intruder with identical hair to mine _touching my things_, "_Seraphina be respectful to our new guests, you are lucky you have a sibling to play with_," he told me.

_Play with? He could not be serious, _Father's gaze told me otherwise, and watching Jonathan's fingers caress my sculpture, ruining the immaculate marble I held back my pride. So, I had to come to terms with having a brother. Father left to take care of fatherly things.

I came up to him, and in order to keep my anger under control pinched my thigh to distract my thoughts of slapping him and his hands away from my precious figurines. His handprint smudges mocked me. Jonathan turned his attention to me his dark eyes uninterested, which had me enchanted once again, I licked my lips, "My name is Seraphina, and I am going to play with you."

He looked me over his eyes landing on my clenched fist, "Seraphina," he was amused as he tested my name with such distaste I would lie that it did not hurt me. Why did I deserve such rejection? Instead he turned away from me, sighing in recognition. "Do you mind, I hate these sculptures," he shoving my sculpture off the desk. He destroyed my sculpture, my own "Great David" to the ground and it broke into a thousand pieces, along with my heart. I loved that sculpture; I felt such rage as I had never felt before, my thighs were stinging from the force of nails on skin.

He brushed by me the soles of his shoes nastily cracking over the marble that I loved, "By the way, Happy Birthday."

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

**_On the day of March 14, 1996, _****_Morgenstern Mansion_**

Well that didn't go so well, "Watch where your step," Jonathan spoke too soon as I fell over his stuck out foot.

I knew he did that on purpose, it showed on his smug little mouth. He was cruel. _He was a cruel little Dutch boy_. That would have been fine, but the death threats he made during passing time were unnecessary. "Be careful where you walk, you never know what might happen."

"I like to see you try something," I made for the door.

He did not stop, "Who says that it will be me, and there are plenty of dangers out there ready to snatch such a wimp."

_That was enough!_ I pushed him away looking down at his less angular face, "I am not a wimp. Why don't you just leave me alone, there is a whole house, just get away from me you FREAK!" I would yell in Dutch while punching him in the arms that were far stronger than mine, but he would not stir. He didn't speak German yet, but father was teaching him. Father had given me the superior tutor, which was obvious in the way I dressed, my knowledge of the languages of Europe, and my delicacy with the social classes a woman were entitled to have. I was a snob towards Jonathan, and I delighted in his ignorance of those I exceeded. Where he failed I prospered.

If in the case he was an _ignorant plebian_ than he was weaker opponent, and if he was weaker he was not a threat.

He was easily angered, but yet again so was I. _The manner of ladyship flew out the window_, whenever Jonathan so much as breathed my way.

Seraphina prided herself on being Father's little princess, to be his crown jewel, and Jonathan was not making it easy.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

**_On the day of June 20, 1996, Training Room_**

Jonathan never retaliated while I was aware; he waited until he was sure I was preoccupied. His cunning and patience was intimidating.

He would glare with those dark soulless eyes,while I turned my back for just a moment. He would never dare call me any names, _learning early on_ that Shadow Hunter woman were obligated to total courtesy and respect. I _always_ used that to my advantage. In those calmative moments was when I knew of total uncertainty of what he was capable of doing to me.

Jonathan was a loose cannon.

He could explode without a hint of a spark. What he was capable of, served as a special relationship between us, a sense of domination that we had to have over one another. This _fight of domination_ I would never give up on.

I learned from that day;_ never turn your back on thy enemy_, especially when you have long hair. That was about the time he found his new pleasure; pulling my hair out of my scalp. His hair was short, but it would have to do. Though it was far easier for him, and he knew that using it to his both could not be moved, two pieces in a puzzle that surprisingly latched onto each other, but were destined to come apart only to be rebuilt again, again, and again. The scars over his arms from my nails would remind him not to mess with _Seraphina Morgenstern_. That was a _bad_ week.

Father analyzed us the way a scientist would insects. Writing in his little black book as if he was reverently praising the ink splattered pages, "Now children. That is no way Shadow Hunters fight we are skillful, cunning, quick, and experts with the tools that God has given us. It should not be given to beat your own siblings! Your little petty fighting will have to end," he put the book aside stopping the experiment midway.

He grabbed both of our struggling frames revealing the_ tools_, we would be using.

What father said was law, we understood that. His muscles rippled as he carried our small bodies, and we had every right to fear him. He was _teacher_ first, and father second.

Jonathan kicked me in the shin, and I in turn swiped hitting father instead of my brother's forehead, "I forgot how much energy children have. You will be more than occupied from now on. I assure you." We were first instructed on dummies. Jonathan had trouble using the weapons at first, something to his anger I excelled at. The knives were my favorite. Father would instruct us on how it was done, and then study us for a while, and then write it down in the little black book. For a time I dared to steal it, but thought otherwise not wanting to know father's own tantrums.

It was extremely difficult at first. I cut my thumb halfway clean off, but thanks to father's stele and Krista's healing powers I was saved. My small hands could not master the heavy weapons, such as broad swords, javelins, or the spear that was thrice as tall as I. I reached into the trunks of weapons trying to find something suitable. Father was instructing Jonathan on how to correctly throw javelins across the room. He was trying to aim for me, but I moved away just in time.

"It slipped," Jonathan explained, while Father wacked him across the head. _Fool of a ghoul_, just wait until I find something, and it will be I that will be doing the slipping.

Then I found it at the bottom of the trunk, under some chains. Perfect. I grabbed the rolled knives in my hand, and smiled at how perfect they fit in it. I turned the blade towards me and saw the letters. _G.M. What could that stand for?_

"Gregorian Morgenstern, those were his knives. You can have them it there suitable," I strapped into the gear and tied the body-gear to my body. After father reconstructed it to fit me the knives were at the ready near my thighs, knives at my sides, on my ankles, and the small of my back ready for the fight.

"When do we start?" Jonathan eyes grew wide as I aimed my first knife.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

**_On the day of February 6, 1997, Training Room_**

I jumped off a dummy and threw my knife across the room. The saliva in my throat caught as I watched it whizz like a wasp hitting the dummy in the head from across the room. It would have surely been a mortal wound unless the individual was already dead. A sheen line of sweat came off my forehead. Every one that I hit _on target_ Jonathan _would have to make_, or he would throw a tantrum. I ran across the room throwing anther in the gut while snarling at the imaginary opponent. Jonathan came from the other side impaling another dummy with his spear.

_Please don't throw a tantrum… _Jonathan's tantrum's consisted of throwing, punching, biting, and just… plain chaos. Jonathan did a flip in the air, and threw two knives but missed the second target.

I smirked in triumph, and Father marked it down.

Father capped his pen, "That is enough for today take a breather you two," Father did spoil him far more out of the two of us. Spoiled him with knowledge.

Valentine allowed us free reign in the training center where we spent practicing during the early mornings. The training center was buried beneath the floors of the Morgenstern mansion, and adjacent to father's experimentation room, "You won't be only taught combat, _no_ my children will be self-disciplined by those that came before us. Books are essential to mold the mind into a worthy fighter, and of course communication and speech is what makes great leaders. People will follow you one day, when you speak the truth to their wondering and questioning minds," He spoke to Jonathan, and then turned to me, "I am raising the leaders of tomorrow after all."

Valentine Morgenstern threw Jonathan a book which he dropped making a disgusted face in my direction. He hoped that I would join in only forgetting that I _never_ disobeyed father. That was the difference between Valentine's offspring our loyalties were completely different.

The peaceful conversation had ended. It was the end of a long morning and we were all a little tired and frustrated with the lack of sleep and exhaustion. I leaned against the doorframe fanning myself, trying to catch my breath. I tried calming all the hateful thoughts I had against father, as much as I wanted to bash his head against the wall, _I couldn't, not without dying_. I told myself to take the high road, and just bit my lip, and keep shut up. Krista came in with drinks, and I took one gulping it down almost drowning in the beverage from my thirst.

Jonathan was undisciplined when he was exhausted. He picked up dual swords testing them in his hands, "Reading is outdated, what are words when you have swords to teach people the true manner in which they should obey." I stopped fanning, and gasped at his guts to speak to father _in that tone_.

Valentine came across the room in a slick movement. I giggled while father slapped him across the face, _I saw that coming a mile away_, "You will not disobey me again Jonathan, and do exactly as I say when I say it. Do you hear me?"

Jonathan looked away in embarrassment, his face an unpleasant cherry. I noticed how ugly he looked when he did that. He kept his faced turned away until father grabbed the front of his shirt roughly shaking his small body, _"Do you hear me? Look at me when I am speaking!"_

"Yes, Father."

Valentine had worn out his patience when it came to Jonathan. Seraphina came to the conclusion that it was because he was disgusted by their exiled existence from the called the homeland, Idris. Jonathan was a symbolization of that exiled part of Valentine. Possibly Jonathan stood for everything that he had hoped to create, everything that he had wanted to prove to the people of Idris, and well Jonathan resisting the _plan of total domination_, as father wanted was not what he had planned for.

Father was not one that thrived in forced loneliness, and the memories of traitors. It was showing in his wrinkles on his forehead, stray strands of hair more grey than white, the way his patience was waning at any bothersome moment, and bags of black under his eyes said sleep was evading his mind.

_Morgenstern men are irritable_, Seraphina pondered looking at the men of her family in their dampen moods.

Seraphina was highly critical, and this saved her from the punishments her brother was too stubborn to resist. I understood _that what pleases fathers is indispensable_, Jonathan would learn in time.

Thought it would take him longer. Jonathan fell to the ground from the force of Valentine's back hand. She watched Jonathan pick himself over the authentic Swiss chair, and turkey carpets that were imported from Istanbul. _No one was going to help him_, he knew that,and he knew that I knew that. He hated me.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

**_On the day of June 15, 1997, Elkentree/_** **_Morgenstern Mansion_**

Our dear father, kept me on a leash. An unfastened one that I could pull without fear of constriction, unless for disobedient behavior and that was fine with me.

As long as I was allowed freedom I could not complain.

Father would allow Jonathon freestyle on how he wanted to use the tools, but I had a rigid schedule one that I would have to stick to without a second thought. I liked things rigid and structured. _Except my room always was tainted by the mere presence…_Jonathan could leave in the house. Could I be haunted by someone who was not even dead? Seraphina glanced at Jonathon that flicked something un-delightful at the walls; _definitely,_ she _could definitely be haunted_ by this ghoul.

Jonathan could actually leave our dwelling, in which he bragged upon meeting other children.

I allowed him his bragging. Those very children he said were weaker, and had no chance against him, and it allowed me time to analyze others even though they were dulled by his meager senses. Children that _he could mold _like father had told him to practice on. I wanted to mold children. Valentine would come strolling with his prodigy from being away for the day. I wanted to join in on meeting the children and participating with their playdates, but I would never humble myself to ask. I resigned to bate my time for the given chance.

Seraphina awaited on the stairs, as Father would remind Jonathan not to be so rough with the children, "_For decency sake Jonathan, show decorum like I told you. Children as well as adults are put off when you upset them to their faces, remember to thrive in these situations you must show utmost respect, intelligence, and thorough speaking skills_," Jonathan would listen, but his stare was pointedly directed at her.

He was bragging once again but now in their unspoken language. _Father tells me things you know nothing of_, they would tauntingly say.

_Father told him far more_ was an understatement. She knew this to be true when she found them talking in whispers in the conference room. She had gone searching for Father in his study only to see that he was not there at all, and had taken to speaking to Jonathan whenever she was otherwise occupied. She caught them.

They were keeping it from her.

Seraphina caught them with their Cheshire cat smiles as Valentine pretended like they were expecting her, "Come in _little star_, we were waiting for you," but she knew better allowing them to have their meetings, and it was growing harder to quelled her curiosity. Instead she picked up her book that father wanted her to read, and focused her energies elsewhere. She respected Father far too much to go snooping, and in the end her pride kept her from going. That ever so strong Morgenstern pride.

_If he wanted to speak to me, he would have_, I told myself. Father met with those that were still loyal to _the cause_, as he called it, _against the half-men, and for the greater glory_, or so she heard behind shushed voices, and hidden meanings.

I was rather put out, until I actually went with my father and brother to a gathering at a loyalist Circle house. Father could not help himself when _I asked nicely_.

We both turned seven that year.

But he learned a lesson that day, **never **_let me get what I really wanted_.

Let's say Father never let me leave the house after _a little incident_ with a girl named Raja. Raja Elkentree was a sweet Polish girl with a timid Shadow Hunter demeanor, but she would not listen to my rules, and she expected my mercy.

Mercy is given to those who _deserve_ it!

Father had to do a lot of explaining and speaking to the Elkentree family, they did not invite me back, and neither did my father ever go back to the Elkentree Manor.

Father ran with me in hand, _"We do not do those things to Shadow Hunters_, Seraphina you must promise me never to do that to those of the Angel's blood!"

I promised with my eyes scrunched, and nose pinkish hued, like baby, he left me in that state when he yelled at me.

No one made me feel so insignificant like he could; mother rocked me to bed that night with melodies that only lived in my dreams. They calm me in ways that my real mother would have, but _Mother Night_ with Jonathan's eyes understood me in ways no one could. She could sympathize with my desires, and even encouraged them, while I _shook with sniffles_. Mother was there in my darkest moments.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

**_On the day of June 16, 1997_**

Jonathan laid his head on his pillow and body splayed out after father's trails on daggers and staff combat. He slept to Mother Night's melodies after watching me be rocked in her embrace.

He was not to be moved by my display of affection toward mother. Jonathan never told anyone about my mother's visits to which I was immensely grateful and surprised but I never voiced it. I was not absolutely sure of this fact, but I gladly assumed that no one came rushing into our room made it a possibility that my secret was safe with him. Mother Night was unlike so many visitors. Father admitted and cared for our woes. But whenever she neared her son he would flinch away with questions she could not answer.

_Where is our mother? What is our father planning to do? Why are we more like you than other Shadow Hunters?_ Jonathan did not choose to touch her when the chance was offered. He would eye her talons as if the next moment they would be lodged in his neck. Mother Night was a strong fist in Father's power. She protected her younglings, which was why I let her so close, allowed her into my cold little heart. She would lick my wounds away, and her warm humming would settle the angry voices in my mind.

Jonathan was not much of a touchy and feely person, and _Mother Night_ understood. I nestled into her neck smelling the delightful smell of spicy tangy nickel smell. I loved it. She in turn turned her head nuzzling my head with her soft chin. Like a mother tigress would its cub, a statement to all that even the fiercest of predators can be the sweetest nurturers.

_Listen to your father_, she would say, and so we did. We would practice under the cool black surgical glare of our father rain or shine. Even through Night and Day, sleep was the only release. It was repetition, Father with his black book and scheming, Jonathan with his tantrums and games, and I with my knives. Even in sleep I dreamt of practicing against Jonathon, Raja, Valentine, hidden shadows, anyone that dared test me against my knives. In the end they would all fall. All would fall against my hand and I would hunt with bloodied feet until my prey knew my fury.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

**_On the day of July 13, 1998, _****_Morgenstern Mansion-Black Forest_**

Jonathan could hear my joyful mumbling in my sleep. He complained about it enough. We shared a room. This was a bad idea from the beginning, because there was no peace from him.

He knew when I awoke, when I was in a bad mood, and at times I swear he could read my thoughts even, before they formed any purpose. It must have been something to do with the fact that we were twins. Though, no two people are exactly the same or that was how father explained it. No, we were very different people; Jonathon enjoyed pain, suffering, and watching other's do most atrocious of acts. You should have seen what happened to the dog… I shuddered at the thought.

I was far more disciplined, though I was not looking for pain. No my fascination was something else entirely. I loved watching… well watching things come to an end. Death. Death was my secret fascination. You could clearly see why I kept it hidden in a society that emasculated and abhorred the very thought of death. I would be labeled a maniac of the wickedest kind or a ticking bomb ready to occur with those who wanted to keep on living. The Living loved living. Keep it hidden.

_Keep it hidden_, Father said, _even though it is a part of who you are, though it should not control you. _How simple is that?

Never had I seen my father commit to the pangs we went through to get what we most darkly desired. My brother had a fetish with his olfactory senses especially when it came to his side of the room. The horrible smell and the mess from his side was the was almost as dysfunctional as he was. My brother had a pig-sty of his side of the room, which suited him just fine.

My side was not that much cleaner, but at least it did not smell like feet, and dead things. _Shudder_. I prided myself on my tactile and auditory senses. My burgundy bed sheets were smooth to the touch, and my harsh booming music was always playing. I loved the vibrations, and the way it pounded against the wall sending tremors through the house. I pushed away painting or drawing which was far too boring, and instruments didn't interest me unless it was my own voice.

No, I sculpted; I created life into the dull clay, with my hands, fingernails, and sharp utensils.

I bought my own clay for the sculptures that I made in my corner of the room. The money father would give me would come from how much I could sell them for. I carved _with my tools_, _my useful knives_. It made me feel alive, while I listened to my chaotic music, singing along with the artist. Jonathon thank goodness didn't mind. Unless, he commanded it to be shut off for his _needed sleep_. My lips curled at the last thought.

Eight year old Seraphina crept to his bed posed to strike him with a mundane bat, "How stupid do you think I am," Jonathan breathed out evenly. _He wasn't sleeping? How could he be so aware? _Jonathan opened his eyes staring at hers in the darkness of the room. She stared at the whiteness of his eyes, which was the only way she could detect his eyes.

His bare chest expanded and retracted as he took deep breaths, and he displayed what he was holding from underneath his covers. It was hard to see, but it was sharp and much more dangerous than a mundane bat, "If you ever sneak up on me again _little star _I will teach you something to truly fear." _Well when he put it that way._

I smashed the bat against his head getting a satisfying crunch, but in turn I got two gashes along my belly. "You don't play fair," I moaned as I felt my side getting sticky. He watched as I grimaced at the throbbing pain it brought, _it burned_, _it burned so much, it burned to the point I wanted to hurl_, but I controlled my expression.

I looked at my brother's broken nose and the blood that stained the front of his Romanian basketball shirt, and smiling lips, "Don't get too excited Jonathan it might actually show," I caught his smile disappear into a grumble. His blackened sheets had a definite coincidence with the smearing of blood from his nose. He could keep the filth with him longer, _like the stinking pig he is_. Jonathan gave a light chuckle, and turned on his side ready for a good night's rest. _How could he sleep from something like this_, I could be dying? But he slept as if he had nothing to fear, as if he had no worry whatsoever.

Seraphina gawked at his turned back, "You backstabbing little demon," I cursed, "Sleep Brother, sleep while you can," I watched the blood stop dripping from my side. My clayed shirt that I wore to work on my projects and sleep was now entirely ruined with the sticky wet blood. _Great_, well at least the wound seemed to have stopped bleeding.

_Yeah…_Shadow Hunters heal quickly, but the blood splatters on the wood floor were not going to be easy to erase. Father could not know about that, and he would make us clean it, _or worse learn a lesson_. So I moved the mess on the floor to cover that section. _Perfect_. Now, I would attend to my wound. I ran down the hallway finding someone to help with the mess Jonathon made. That little _white haired freak_.

That is how I found myself in father's office.

Father was unnecessarily gentle with me; I was one of his weaknesses. _I noted to memory. If someone showed a weakness in plain sight than it was one's duty to exploit it. _

He had me sit on his office desk while he cleaned where it sanitized my wound after sealing it, "Why can you and Jonathan play nice? Like a good sister and brother," He wiped away the last of the dried blood on my side, "Believe me," I confided, "We could not even grasp _playing nice_. Besides Shadow Hunters do not play nice, I would rather be feared than loved." Valentine watched his daughter as she spoke words far older than her young face made others believe. I scrunched my freckled nose as he touched one of the cleaned slashes without warning.

**Valentine/Seraphina POV**

_She reminds me so much of Jocelyn when she does that_, thought Valentine_, when she was worthy of being trustworthy_.

Valentine looked upon his noiseless daughter with his own fair hair just like her brother, but her eyes were bright green, _Jocelyn's eyes_. She and her brother held so much promise, his fingers tingled in anticipation. Like watching the dominos fall into place already knowing the course it is bound to take. Seraphina though had her mother's eyes was nothing like her, in any way shape or form. She was undoubtedly loyal to the point it was unnerving, and she was dark, the demon blood had carved out any part of Jocelyn that would have been. He loved that fact that she unlike her mother, she would never leave him.

Seraphina pulled down her shirt, "I can't help myself father, I get excited with just the thought of fighting, and I don't have many people to hang out with. Not that I need playmates because I know that I am on time out with other kids. But, Jonathan just seems like he kind of deserves it, and truthfully I love kicking his ass."

Valentine gave a playful slap, "No, foul language. Ladies never curse, especially Morgenstern woman," She persisted, "Sorry I wasn't thinking daddy."_ She had him with daddy_; he was a sucker when she called him that. His eyes twinkled and he ruffled her hair, "You are forgiven."

She jumped off the office desk, "Sometimes it is so hard _daddy_ to deal with him. It is like he enjoys it, fighting me I mean. Which I don't mind, but he can be so rough, and I am just a lady after all," I swayed him with my spring eyes, "You were a child once father you know how it is. Did You? I mean did you fight with someone the way I fight with Jonathan?"

_Luke Graymark_. She would have brought up those memories. Her curiosity for answers was a Morgenstern family trait. The answer would be _the insufferable half-human beast Luke Graymark. _Jocelyn and Luke both traitors, both people he had once loved and now hated with all his living soul. He was going to answer, when there was a knock at the door, "May I enter master. Sorry to interrupt, but Valentine they have come, it is time for us to prepare."

Seraphina knew that voice it was Samuel Blackwell, he came to gather Father for another Circle meeting. He was the largest of her father's Circle comrades his fist could cover her entire face. His indifferent face had jagged sharp scars that made his face harder than usual, but he followed her father like a mindless zombie. He would die for her if it came to it, and she nodded towards him with respect. Valentine Morgenstern patted his daughter on the head, "Off you go to your room, and no more fighting or you will be practicing until your knees give out."

**Seraphina POV**

_Only words_, I knew, _he would never harm me_.

I ducked from under him, "Excuse me Lord Blackwell," he moved, and I was out the door, "Yes, father I will stay out of trouble," I bounded down the corridor going in the opposite direction of my room.

"Now you were saying Sam about the recent develop…" Seraphina escaped the hallway.

Valentine Morgenstern was the only person she abided to, the only person she felt the emotions of complete affection, but love… Seraphina believed it was impossible for her to love. She felt affection towards him, _yes that was her best_. He shared room with her affections to music, her sculpting, and hurting Jonathan in any way possible. _But, _she would not promise to obey completely; it was not in her nature.

I would not be joining Jonathan. He was snoring away the most important time of all, time with _our true mother_. I ran to a balcony rushing out until I was leaning over the edge. It was near dead of night, _my favorite_.

During the day, I felt too suffocated by the heat and brightness of the sun. The night brought boundless possibility, and an entirely different type of light. The darkness tasted like tangy sweet with the stolen moments of opportunity.

The Moonlight poured milky white on my black swirling Shadow Hunter marks, and equally moonlight hair. It was a long way's down, and only someone with a death sentence would even dare lean too far over the edge. Seraphina's hair pooled around her face as she looked down at the pebbled ground of the first floor deck, hoping to find a way to climb down.

_But mother would be waiting_, I thought. I would not keep _my Mother Night _waiting. No, I was not a wimpy mundane, I could survive anything, even a fall that would surely kill any young Shadow Hunter. I jumped off into the chill night, landing heavily on my knees, hearing a crack I cursed myself.

_Idiotic. Reckless_. Seraphina got up despite the pain and wincingly jogged across the clearing into the woods. It throbbed up her leg, like static that electrocuted her entire leg, her face clenched red in pain. The woods were dark, and foreboding my father had remarked when they looked out across the acres balcony. Her father was a reflective man that prided himself on the knowledge that he attained from the Morgenstern library.

She remembered his words, "Morgenstern means "morning star", we are one of the oldest families of Idris, and among all Shadow Hunters never forget that. The Morgenstern name holds power along with those who share the family blood. Those in Idris believe that we must bow down to the mundane of this earth as if- as if-

- We are impudent servants. The mundanes are just a danger to themselves as any Downworlder, or demon that would cross their path."

"Downworlder?" Jonathan asked.

Valentine spat it out like fire, "Witches, Warlocks, Vampires, Werewolves, and Fairies, the whole lot is disgusting and volatile creatures that will bring an end to the world that the first Jonathan and the Angel Raziel, _bless his name_, pledged to give to the chosen people. We the Morgenstern and among the Idris Families we have upheld that pledge from the beginning our lips touched the Mortal Cup. Though you must remember as we all know, when someone has great power it does not always mean they have to be served." Jonathan leaned over the edge daringly, "Like Lucifer."

Valentine flinched at that, Seraphina caught her father's blazing eyes distracting him from her brother's falsely statement, "In fact I think differently. You mean, Father like independent thought, and your own sense of free will." Jonathan pinched her arm discreetly, but he did know of how she saved him from a beating that day, "Yes, Seraphina, _my little star_, precisely that. We must protect ourselves, and those we are entrusted by those only controlled by their own selfish desires. By any means possible. By those controlled by the dark." Seraphina and Jonathan caught each other's gaze.

But to his blinded eyes, both Jonathan and Seraphina thrived in the dark, and did she long to be enveloped in it. Some found it uneasy walking where you could not see. She took out her stele,_ Sanbras_, and drew the healing rune for the third time today. The pain became tolerable, and her eyes had yet to become accustomed to the pitch darkness.

Seraphina thought, _Why would you need to see, when you can feel_? She had told her brother of this, but he ignored her ushering to another weapon of his choice after wasting precious time thinking silly thoughts. Jonathan and his weapons were inseparable. His toys were his pride and glory and Seraphina mused thoughtfully that she had a few of own as well. She waited in the moonlight for _Mother Night_, near the cracked stump. In front of her was a project she was working on for the past three weeks. It was a trap of sorts that she would use on wolves or some animals that would be ensnared by it.

It was unmistakable to her, but to anyone else it was just the forest floor. _Or was it_, she mused. She sat on the stump feeling it with her fingertips; it was an ugly mossy old thing that felt lumpy and bumpy along the splintered wood. The crack center was etched so deep-

A whole flock of birds shrieked and flew across the moonlight their shadows moved across the ground like scampering prey. Seraphina chased after them until she became aware of footsteps, and muffled conversation on the wind. She faltered in her step allowing the birds shadows to disappear altogether.

French voices slurred her coherence, "Where are we going Prudence, you said you put the doll near the river, now your saying it is near the trees, can you just make up your mind?" How odd, Frenchmen in the Black Forest of Germany, _what good practice this would be_, she remembered her books in French recalling what things to say.

She could see two small mundanes coming this way in the dead of night finding their way in the moonlight. Children, here in the forest. Children, here at night. How odd. How… unfortunate, Seraphina smiled in the darkness. She edged behind a pine tree filled with fungus along the ground. She hid in the curvature of the bark caressing it with her small white fingers, while her eyes sought out the Frenchmen.

Mundanes were a common thing during the daylight hours, and Shadowhunters could go undetected if we wished. The invisible world was hidden only to those of mundane origins. Though if we wanted to reveal ourselves then we truly could, though the swirling marks on my arms and legs could not possibly go unnoticed. That is why I calmed myself and they shimmered away only coming to the surface when they were needed. The black runes of my skin were of balance, healing, courage, stealth, and speed. They were the ones Father had bestowed on me, _so far_. I had yet to place one of my own. My time would come at the age of thirteen.

The taller one spoke in heavy French, "Prudence, I am the eldest here, and I am saying we go home. What if someone finds that we are not in our beds? If we go now we might not wake father before he goes to work," The older boy, possibly a brother held the higher authority among the two, his boyish features labeled him as still naïve, and persuadable.

The younger was smaller still in a sleeping gown, how adorable she was. The little child stumbled across an outstretched log. It was agonizing to see how easy she let her neck lean out in the open, open to anyone that could have the boldness to take it, "_Babette Aribella_ was right here. I swear I put her here in the morning. We were playing tea party," She clung to her brother's arm as she hopped over it, "It was supposed to be fun, and then you called me, and it wasn't her fault that I left her behind. Please if we stay just a little longer we'll find her. Then I promise to be a good girl, and not bother you anymore." Clinging to him he half-heartedly agreed, and they searched_._

_ I already found it_, Seraphina mockingly knew. Her hawk-like awareness had subconsciously found it before even making her way here. She looked down at her hands, it was after all very pretty and expensive, but _Babette Aribella's_ fake smile was as plastic as the one she was going to give to persuade her new targets. _How ironic._

Now, to test a theory.

How far would a brother go to please his little sister? Would he do absolutely anything for her? To what lengths? Valentine's daughter had inherited something much worse than demon blood from her father's experiments; she had inherited his cold-blooded critical eye for experimentation. _Let the experimentation begin_, her curiosity egged her on.

Seraphina dared to know. She tried it in a sickly sweet voice letting her voice ring out, "Is this the doll you are looking for?" Their steps stopped, the girl clutched her brother in fear, while the brother took a step back.

Seraphina emerged into the clearing, smiling kindly with her pearly whites. She positioned herself around her beloved trap; this would be ever too simple. The French slurred from her mouth, "Hello, I heard you lost a doll? Are you there?"

Around the bend of wooded trees the siblings met the mystery girl that indeed held _Babette Aribella_. They took in the sight of her with the little moonlight left to be seen through the canopy. Here Seraphina could see them _just fine _the eldest was a boy ripening into his teenage years probably fourteen or fifteen, his observant and critical gaze only greatened her anticipation for what could possibly occur. To his arm there was a girl of _no more than five_ with matching brown gaze, and dark hair that gazed longingly at her precious doll. But, she obediently stayed by his side waiting upon his word of safety. They both had strong brows, and big eyes that would be regarded as handsome traits.

Seraphina tried to give a sweet smile, drawing the boy in with her natural good looks. While her brow was far more feminine, she extended her long neck, and fairness that was her perfectly formed nose, both she had not received from her father, and she had learned was very appeasing to a boy's imagination. Jonathan would have spit in her face, if she dared tried it on him. _She had tried_, and his spit was slick and slimy on her nose, but his blackened eye satisfied her immensely. They were a matching set.

The boy's arms became lax as he saw it was only a girl of nine, a rather pleasantly pretty one at that. Seraphina took the bait passing it among her hands like a hot potato. She watched as the young girl's eyes were trained on it, like a puppy looking at a treat. The doll in turn looked back at its owners its blank smile endearing, and so forcibly fake.

The night was still hot for it was near midsummer, and a slight wind moved Seraphina's dress lapping at her ankles. She focused. Seraphina kept her place in check not moving a step forward, "Is this your doll, the one called _Babette Aribella_? What a sweet doll name for such a sweet girl. Prudence is it? Now tell me little one what is your handsome brother's name?" She cringed at how fake she sounded, but he looked confident at the sight of her blushing cheeks.

It was unheard of a girl out in the woods at this hour of the night. But, this _was no ordinary girl_. The way the wind moved her swirling illuminated hair, to reveal those big green eyes. Her skin looked grooved with scars, but it was the perfect shade of alabaster, so he overlooked it. She would be beautiful one day, if she was not now. The older boy blushed at the thought of her future womanly form, and how _he would always have the upper hand_. If only he knew how wrong he was.

_ Handsome brother, really original_, Seraphina hunted for any traces of resistance. He didn't notice the fakeness in her voice, "Costa Vivaldi," He huskily answered, his adam-apple bobbing, "Thank you for finding it, she would not shut-up all night, but what are you doing out here so deep in the forest? It is not safe to be here at night. Are you lost _mademoiselle_? Would you like us to take you to the nearest town? We could"- The one thing Seraphina could not allow was rambling, especially when it was boring and unnecessary.

The French boy Costa politely asked, "Are your parent's looking for you?"

Seraphina flirtingly shushed him, and extended the doll forward toward the boy, "Here, take it. This is the reason why you left your bed is it not, _or would your sister take it_?" Prudence was in fact backing away having caught sight of the smudges of brown on the mysterious girl's abdomen, smudges that looked more crimson than brown. Prudence and Seraphina caught each other's eyes, and a chill went down the baby-faced girl. The green eyes of the older girl turned frigid cold; no hint of friendliness in them.

Prudence's fine hairs on her arm stood on end like she had been electrocuted with a thousand bolts. Something was wrong. _Horribly wrong._

Prudence tugged backwards. Her feet moved closer to the woods rather than her _Babette Aribella_. She felt the wrongness like walking in on an unwanted visiting, her bowels dropped to the core of the earth, "Let's go Costa, I don't want it anymore. Mother would be awake by now," she warned him. The night was filled with howls in the distance, and Costa was otherwise occupied.

_Easy now little brat before I end you_, Seraphina's eyes spoke volumes to the girl, while the child's eyes bulged in fear.

Costa had not noticed their silent communication too focused on the howling that was nearby, "Do not be rude. I apologize Prudence doesn't stay up this late; we have been out here all night. It is of course fine if you come with us. It would be no inconvenience, my parents would understand." He looked uncomfortable now suddenly hyper aware that there was predators in the forest, that could pose a danger. Costa inched forward _so close_ to the trap, Seraphina puffed out in her restless anticipation.

She teased him further forward, "Children will be children. Though my arm is getting a little deaden from having to carry this doll for so long," _I am getting irritated by this moron_, thought Seraphina.

The boy walked forward for it, his sister unwillingly let go, as he tore from her rigid stance. Prudence didn't have time to gasp as the ground underneath her brother's feet cracked and crunched warning his immediate unsafe predicament, and the signs of trouble. People, were said to always have a sense when things were going to end badly. _Costa must have been born without one_. It was always his type of people that could walk into a trap, like a rat into a trap. All they saw was the cheese. In this case all he saw was the mysterious girl holding what he had gone in search for. Never noticing the trap right underneath him, but, he did notice, it was just too late when he did.

The wind gathered up the leaves, and foliage revealing beams that were cracked dead center. This was no ordinary ground, this was a trap. The moon glittered on the girl's form as she leered in her clear confidence, her pearly whites glowing like headlights.

Seraphina sneered as Costa watched his feet sink, "Watch your step, handsome."_He had no sense of self-preservation_, the boy fell through the trap into the sucking darkness, falling deep underneath the ground. Prudence screamed. Seraphina acted.

_Practice, Practice, Practice._

Prudence screamed and yelled in pain as she saw a knife embedded into her chest. Another knife hit her stomach with slicing pain, and the mysterious girl was already coming to retrieve way she strode across the border of her trap to the lying girl was that of a stalking smug predator. Seraphina was the satisfied tigress watching the baby rabbit breathing its final breaths. The killer's arms had swirling marks like that of serpents that slithered up and down in the dance of the dead. Her eyes were icy green, without any life or pity.

No noise came from the trap, and Prudence sniffled even louder for the turn of events. Her chances of surviving came to hopelessness, and her concerned and distressed mother was never going to know the truth.

"I want my mother," Prudence cried, the tears covered her vision as the girl came upon her, "I want my mother, please let me go see my mother."

_It is still not done_, Seraphina mentally noted. She descended.

Seraphina mechanically tugged on the knife until it came out squirting sticky crimson on her neck and chin. _Delicious._ She didn't bother to wipe it away, and the small girl fell on her back-side cupping her chest in the loss of the metal. "MAMA, please, MAMA!" She screamed for her mother. Her dress completely crimson red and wet like water. The dark was alive. The dark melded with the blood, as if it thirsted like a beggar for sustenance. The fountain of water that gushed from the girl was as if she had found the fountain of life itself.

So, splendid_, mother will be pleased_. Her own mother's pitch black eyes would darken when she came with the news, Seraphina was sure of it.

The girl had to put up a fight, she had to resist, Seraphina pulled her braid skyward, "_Stand up mundane_, those who die on their backs are not worthy of a swift death. They who die on their backs are the weakest and most pitiful of beings, and deserve death when it comes to their abode. Only those who face it head on are worthy of the most glorious death," Seraphina quoted her famous ancestor Gregorian Morgenstern as if it was her own. Prudence moaned as Seraphina tore the hand held knife from her stomach, and dove it home. _Deep into her_.

Prudence curled in pain, but stayed on her back saturated in pain, while Seraphina bended down to speak. "_Death to mundanes_," she gently quoted. Seraphina had heard it from the famous _Ragnor _demon on her mother's side.

"PRUDENCE!" Costa Vivaldi bawled from the trap, and Seraphina smiled to herself dragging the weakening Prudence to the pit. She was so near now, _it would not be long._ The blood trailed after Prudence dragged sagging body, she was whispering for Seraphina to end her life, but she wouldn't listen. The tigress had no emotion toward the kill; the tigress had no remorse when she struck for the death. _Raja Elkentree_ had learned that when she would not bend to her will, and now Prudence and Costa would also.

Seraphina would have future nights of enjoyment after this timely experience. She would reminisce these moments like stolen sweets.

Seraphina looked down into the trap. Her eyes adjusted to the deep dark, as Costa was glaring up in his anguished features. He had a cut on his brow that dripped down his face, _and he looked far better from this position_, mused Seraphina.

Costa Vivaldi nursed his injured unmoving arm, "Costa Vivaldi, how fortunate you are to have survived the fall. Now, we will have much more time to get to know each other, as two young people should." Seraphina yanked Prudence to the edge of the trap. So, she was leaning over for her brother to see her matching ache. His face was priceless, as he watched the blood splat and drip into the hole with him. Costa watched his sister in a stricken horror. "You devil, you demoness of hell! God will damn your soul for whatever you do to her. Let her go, or I swear I will"-

_How dare that moron, he will die_, she vowed, not embodying her anger. She remained stoic. Though he was right, _my soul was damned_, and I was proud as a mother's daughter should be.

She was under control, "Now don't be rude Costa where is your manners. Playing the white knight for your sister is alright, but damning people especially little ladies is improper. As your superior, you are in no position to make propositions. I am in control here. I was always in control, possibly in your second life you will be more- prudent. Like Prudence here," she squeezed those fatty pale cheeks, "that sensed the danger you were too blind to see," Seraphina watched the dying girl's mouth open, "Costa, get away from her. Just run away!"

Prudence stretched her small bloodied knuckles to her brother for the final moments she had. _It was all very touching_, but the night was almost done, and her father would be returning from his Council meeting. Seraphina had to make this quick. She went for the swift death; she needed the relief of her passionate desire.

Prudence soft neck was open but, the girl gaining consciousness pushed weakly like a leaf would against the wind. Her weak hands were no match for Seraphina. The leaf had no choice but to bend against the invisible deadly sting of the wind. She would be food for the wolves. Food for the… _Now wait a moment_. A wicked thought crossed her mind too delightful to pass. She let go of Prudence who seemed to black out, _or was dead_, either or.

She wetted her lips tasting the salt, and spoke while the brilliant thought appeared, "Your Prudence! Your poor little sister doesn't have long. But I'll do you a favor, instead of the wolves finishing her off once I leave. You can do the honors," Costa looked completely lost. He kept blinking the tears from his eyes.

Seraphina made it clear, "Starvation is the first leading cause of death in the Black Forest. You are after all a growing boy, and you need your food. Though do so fast, or the wolves will beat you to the punch, or whatever roams this forest," Seraphina looked around the dark forest with imaginative eyes, "will smell the kill. Their senses are heightened at blood will lead them into the hole, and _well_ you get the picture"-

Prudence too far from saving was shoved into the hole with her brother. She watched Prudence roll over, tumble against the wall, and her lifeless bones cracked at the bottom next to her brother's flinched form. Seraphina slipped her sword's side on her hand to wipe the dirt and blood on her clothing.

She inspected the burning coming from her arms. _Damage Check. _Seraphina assessed the damage of her arms where burning scratches from Prudence zigzagged on her soft skin, and the streaming sweat from her brow dropped from her pointed chin as if she had just swam a mile in a lake. She wiped the fluid on her hand and arm while putting away her knives into their appropriate sheaths. She rose away from her victims. A stabbing pain came from her ankle, after the adrenaline in her system left.

She recalled jumping off the balcony; it was by far the most damage, and _it was self-inflicted_. _Reckless Idiot_, she cursed herself again. The murder was… inspiring, and really raised her self-esteem. She felt complete euphoric happiness, like she could do anything. She wiped away more sweat, leaning back as the feeling began. Then she felt it coming on. The satisfaction would blossom and bring her face to face with _Mother Night_.

The vision always began with her face. Those dark holes for eyes, her talons egging her on into the darkness of her own mind, and Seraphina beckoned, followed her spiked tail, and naked pale body of a well-formed woman. She had no time to waste with mundane insecurities, as clothes. The sugar sweet venom that burned through her senses and the images like a reel in the movies would flash through her eyes. These were the images that Mother Night graced her with; the first was a lake of some sort and the brilliance of light. She winced in detest.

Her eyes became adjusted. Seraphina could tell it was a lake because she was looking down on it, two lone figures on the sand awaiting something to come; one had blood-red hair. The second vision was of a tank filled with drifting body and murky water, then the water turned blood-red and a milky white hand shot out. The third was always the vision that she had before she awoke, she was on a frozen lake, and there were two angels battling. One was golden-winged, and the other black. All she could sense was the one with the black wings needed her help, and she had to reach the figure. She awoke before she could.

The lake and battling angles had disappeared, "I thank you for this vision, Mother Night."

She was once again in the Black Forest, the nickel sour smell of blood still fresh in the air. Costa was shaking Prudence that had turned cold to her brother's touch. Mother Night had blessed her tonight, with visions that she would keep in the back of her mind. She was after all Mother Night's chosen one. She cooled that arrogance, _it would get her nowhere_. She was not faultless.

It was those mistakes that drove her back to reality. It was not flawlessly executed. It would have gone perfectly if it wasn't for Prudence being a weakling, and putting up no fight would have been the best moments in her life, but she would have larger things to strive for now._Perfection._Jonathan was not the experienced one now, _now was her moments of brilliance_. In the dark is where she shinned darkest.

Costa called out his sister's name, drawing Seraphina's attention that had been digging the dried blood from under her fingernails, "Well stay cozy mundanes, I'll be back soon. So please don't go anywhere," Costa crawled away from his sister who was on the edge of death, who he had come to protect and love with all his heart, and gave a bloodcurdling scream. A bloodcurdling scream he bellowed that deliciously filled the night with music in Seraphina's ears. It was far better than the booming artist on her favorite track.

Seraphina leisurely walked home to the beat of Costa's screaming, back to her brother before he awoke, and saw her empty sheets. She cursed at the rust she would gain with the un-cleaned blood on her knives, but time was of the essence, and hurried home. All the while the two battling angels in her mind fought on, and she wished that the black-winged angel won in the end.

Jonathan strode out from behind the mossy trunk of a great oak tree. The shadows tugged on his coat, but he stepped into the moonlight finally revealing himself.

Unknown to her, _he had noticed_ her disappearance.

Choosing to follow her instead of turning her in, and had watched it all. The way she was lifted up, and hopped with every step, practically bouncing all the way. No one could see the monster that lived under those adorably cruel features. He looked around in the carnage, and puddles that circled around the dark hole. Screams rose out of the hell his sister had created. The French boy was in his own personal hell, and she acted so pure and happy one would think that no sins could possibly be done from such an angelic girl. She was a veiled monster.

The very thought made him smirk. The moon shone through the trees lighting her freakishly platinum hair that could not possibly be hidden in the darkness. He stepped out of a puddle he hoped was not blood. He stared after her as she reached the mansion and locked the door after her without one look back. Her brother had unflinchingly watched the whole act. Jonathan Morgenstern had watched in ensnared attraction, and morbid reflection.

_There was no going back, Seraphina was truly his sister. _Jonathan turned to take care of the evidence she left behind.


	2. Craft of the Father

**AUTHOR NOTE:**

**YOU ARE ALL LOVELY VIEWERS THANK YOU FOR STICKING WITH THIS STORY!**

**I could not wait till Sunday, so I had to update!**

**Mixed on reviews on what to do... but you will see the path I chose. _hopefully_ you are not too disappointed! Next Next Sunday I will update, but reviews bring the chapters coming! Alrighty my cherubs, I can't leave you waiting too long, here is the next chapter!**

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**Chapter 9 **

**Stirring the Beast**

_I love you... _

_I love you?.. My mouth had committed suicide, and I was going to pay the price._

"I love you," I said. It was effortless to say, and maybe that is why I knew that it was the wrong thing to do. Jon would mentally scalp me if I hugged him too long, and revealing my feelings was a level I never dared think of entering into. Well here I was, I said it, I was an idiot but I was pretty proud of cementing on my poker face, and keeping the turmoil of my thoughts at bay. I had to stand up for this, because with a person like Jon he thrived off those that wavered in their beliefs.

"What did you say to me?

"I love you Jo-"

"I know what you said, be silent."

"Then why did you?"

"I can't believe this. I told you to be still."

He was deadly silent, and his gaze looked glassy. The happiness trickled out of me, and ebbed to a silent glow. My lips felt raw, but so did my heart. I wanted him to say it back, but I knew I would be pushing him. I dared not speak. He lifted his hand up and I winced taking a few steps back.

It was clearly the wrong move, because he was only correcting his shirt, but the damage was done. I had recoiled from him. Fire blazed in his dark eyes, and I was fearful for what came next. For a moment I thought he was going to strike me. No one had struck me unless it was for practice, or an attack from battling against demons. Enemies struck you down, and Jon was not my enemy. I was in love with him, but I was afraid of him. _Was that love?_

He gripped his black jeans, "Take it back."

"I won't," I wrapped my hands under my chest, "I meant it."

"How could you say something so ridiculous?"

"My love for you is not ridiculous, it is right," _it is true, it is strong, it is us_. Now I was making it sound like a Broadway musical. I had thought about this for a while, and there was no backing down now that it was out of the closet.

He chuckled with no amusement, "You are ridiculous for believing so. What do you think you are doing? You say 'you love me' and I follow you back home, and we live happily ever after? Is that what you want because if it is then let me just cut that loose and say I will never feel anything more than lust when it comes to you."

I shook my head angrily, "That is a lie!"

"I mean every word I say," He repeated, "Do not delude yourself with a few kisses. What do you think that was a few moments ago." _What the hell? He needed to stop that_, "Don't confuse lust for love."

My arms went skyward, "Don't do this Jon! After everything we have been through, how can you feel nothing?"

"I can't," his jaw was set in a stern grimace, "It is impossible."

"Don't you remember being fruit buddies? The bets we made on what I could steal? Burning down Old Man Sam's cow pen?"

"Irrelevant," he dismissed.

"What? But," my mouth pouted, "uggghhh…. okay, How about visiting France, Italy, remember California? Now that was a lot of fun we had! We got into all sorts of trouble, but we always got out of it. We got out because we did it together. Don't you remember?" The taste of sea-salt from Santa Monica beach, and the course sand on my bare feet assaulted my mind with the memory. It was one of my most favorite memories to replay. The ocean was a wonder to me, and how endless it looked. The way the ships disappeared as they trekked across the ocean as if they fell off the edge disappearing from sight. The same way my heart-felt now, as if I fell off the edge with them.

His face was hard and mean. I focused on his reddened lips to remember that it was not all my damn imagination. _Shut the front door __Sera_, As if my imagination was that great to start with.

His eyes calculated the way I held my arms weakly at my sides, "Remember? Of course I do. I do not see what difference it makes. You act as if these memories would make you have ownership over me. The problem does not lie with my memory, but you thinking emotions exist when they do not."

He was making me very pissed, "Oh, SAVE THAT CRAP FOR THOSE THAT BELIEVE IT! Explain to me how you cannot remember how awesome it felt to just live, and be free to do whatever we wanted. Be whoever we wanted; sleep wherever, and at the end of the day we knew that another adventure was right around the corner."

He stared at the ground, rubbing his tip of his shoe into the ground. How could he be doing this to me? When had I ever hurt him like this? Didn't he know what his silence was doing to me?

If I kept this up I was going to get a heart attack.

I rubbed my forehead, "_For God's sake, Jon_. I tied your shoe when we were waiting for the taxi, and then I let you sleep on my shoulder," that was one of my favorite memories, and it hurt trying to invoke some feeling when he was the one of the main reasons that memory was my favorite.

"It does not matter," his voice was quieter.

"Why?"

"You have these notions that If you dealt with me during my times of weakness, then I will thank you. That you could hold it over my head, and have power of me."

"I DON'T WANT A FUCKEN THANK YOU JON! I DON'T CARE ABOUT POWER EITHER! ALL I WANT IS TO CARE FOR YOU!"

He didn't answer.

My voice was hoarse, "Why can't you feel anything?" I kicked the portable table making caviar fly, and glass break. He was silent as I threw my three-year old fit, breaking everything in sight. I wanted him to join in to show him how much fun I could really be, but I then it would defeat the purpose of the destruction. I was supposed to show my disdain through destruction, not want to include him in my mayhem.

"WHY!" I threw a wine glass at a tree, and it broke on impact.

"CAN'T YOU FEEL!" I wanted to pull my hair out of the roots. I sounded like the exorcist, and I was pretty sure I looked like one, "WHYY!

He screamed teardrops flying, "BECAUSE I AM CORRUPTED!"

I froze in my tirade, because Jon was shaking from head to toe. He had been the entire time I had destroyed his birthday scene. Now that I was paying attention he had rivulets of tears going down his cheeks. Jon. Was. Crying. Oh god what had I done! I broke him!

He did not hold back, "I AM NOT EVEN HUMAN! I AM A MONSTER AND NO ONE CAN LOVE ME! IT WAS MY FAULT MY MOTHER LEFT US," he caught his breath, but I was afraid he was going to blow the vessel in his neck, "I CAN'T EVEN THINK RIGHT. ALL I WANT TO DO ARE BAD THINGS TO PEOPLE, AND I DON'T UNDERSTAND WHY?"

He gasped loudly the oxygen entering his lungs in great gulps, "I don't- know- why." I had no idea what to say or do so I stood there waiting for him to say more, "I try so hard, and it never helps. I want to be normal, but I can't be. I never could be, and it makes me feel…" his eyes searched back and forth across the field, but they did not see.

"It makes you feel sad," I finished for him. I had never seen so much emotion in one person before. He finally was able to let go, and I was happy I here to help him as he did. He didn't have to go through this alone.

"No, it is not grief. It makes me feel furious," he wiped his cheeks, "I am so angry for my choices being taken. I never wanted this, and I am the one that has to pay the price for this."

"Who did this to you, Jon?"

He didn't answer me. He had his hand over his mouth.

"Who took your choices from you Jonathan? Why would they do that?"

His hand was shaking, "I am a product of revenge. Revenge for a grandfather that was lost," he whispered, "and the product of hatred for a mother that decided to leave."

I was still in shock over all this emotion. It was like he was holding this back, and the floodgates just opened releasing every tiny emotion in its path. He stood there in a daze not even seeing me, and it scared me to see him lose so much control. I dare not go near him, my instincts were telling me to run screaming bloody murder, but I just bit my lip instead waiting for him to return to me.

I wanted to tell him that he was stupid for thinking this was his entire fault, and that his feelings would come in time. Though I felt this went deeper than that. Someone had seriously hurt Jonathan, damaging him in a way that I knew naught how to repair. Well not yet anyways.

He began swaying, "You cannot care for me."

"It's too late for that," I was too invested into this to go anywhere now.

He knelt his energy was spent. This was definitely his crashing point. He had his hands covering his beautiful mourning face. Even when he was crying he was still was the handsomest man to me. In a way his emotion moved me to want him even more, "I can never be the man that you love. You loving me would kill us both," his eyes closed, "If you even conceive the horrors of my origin, you would turn me over to the Clave the moment you heard it."

I leaned down placing a hand on his shoulder, "That is where you are wrong Jonathan! I could never do anything to hurt you. You don't hurt the people you care about. Whoever did this to you we are going to make them fix it. Okay, we can make this better,_ together_."

He mumbled into his hands.

"What did you say," I rubbed his shoulder, "I can't hear you."

"L-ebe-ee"

"What?"

He shouted, "Leave me!"

I hooked my arm around his biceps, "Not until we overcome this," I urged him to get up, "not until we have this all figured out. I am not going to leave you like this."

He got up with me, "Save me your false security." When he stood his hair hid his eyes, "Since the day you met me you pity me."

I tried to fix his hair, "Jon?"

He rejected my touch, "Don't deny it. It is written on your face, your games you play, and this patched up birthday excuse. Yes, all you have felt for me is pity. Let's feel sorry for the boy without anyone. No mother, horrible excuse for a father, and no friends. Maybe he will reveal everything, and we can laugh at him for the failure he truly is. How weak he is to let a girl teach him the reasons to give up one's duty in the name of love."

"I do not pity you. Besides I reject that arguement, why can't you do both. I am a Shadowhunter, and I believe in love. Heck, _I live by love_."

He turned showing me his back, "You know nothing. When have you truly suffered for what you believe in?"

"You don't have to suffer to believe in things, or to stick true to something. Pain does not equal investing yourself into your beliefs. It is just a form of oppressing people."

"Well have you been oppressed in your beliefs, Sera? Name one time?"

"Well, If you want to speak in explicit terms. Let's see um... well I am doing it right now. I am dealing with all this nonsense about you are _unable_ to feel or something, and I have been doing it every past Sunday it seems."

"That is what keeps you weak," he cursed, "sloppy, arrogant, and a fool of a person if I ever have met one. Do you expect me to grovel at your feet now_? Oh THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR TAKING THE TIME TO LOVE ME! I AM SO THANKFUL!"_

This was harassment; he made me feel pitiful, and then made fun of me, "STOP ACTING STUPID! I am only caring for you, this is not weakness. Love makes you strong. Whoever told you that was sorely mistaken."

"Why should I listen to a half-blood," my blood froze, "the bastard of a warlock, and an unnamed Shadowhunter mother. Yes, I can see it now, _Seraphina Fell the Warlock Bastard, future Consul extraordinaire_," he mocked.

Suddenly I was back at the Academy with Aline Penhallow scorning my existence, "Go ahead tease me, but when I get home someone is waiting for me, who is waiting for you? Who cares for you except me, tell me that?"

His face crumpled, and new row of tears cascaded down his face.

I had hurt him, so bad. My face contorted in pain reflecting his, and I knew that he was right. I did pity him, but I also loved him, and cared for him. I wished he had someone to go back to. At least someone out there that loved him even more than I did.

"You were right."

My eyebrows rose, "the people who love us, know where to hurt us."

My pants came is short bursts, and my heart hurt from beating so fast. I knew I was going to ruin this. I always ruined things for myself, and it was my damn tongue this time. If I had a mind I would snip it out and be done with it. I bit the tip of it, just to stop it from shaking.

"Jon," I whispered trying to rectify the moment, "I'm so-"

"You have said enough, Sera. Leave me."

"I am not going anywhere," I opened my hands in surrender, "my place is here. I can stay longer."

"Go, back to the people who love you," he whispered scornfully.

"Maybe- if you want you could come with"—

"NOOO!" He shoved me away, and I fell down terrified at his reaction. He was horrified with my offer to him. I was ready to cry, but the tears would not come.

"You ruined this," he wrapped his arms around himself. He looked in pain and I cursed my stupidity for the millionth time.

"Don't follow me!" he shouted. I was too surprised to do anything, but to view his retreating back escape through the forest line. He ran away from me, and my declaration. I knew he would act this way if I said it, but there was a part of me that hoped that just this once he would listen to me, and I could finally take care of him in the way I always wanted.

I stiffly got up, packed my things, and walked away. It was all robotic, but in the back of my mind I knew this would hit me, and I would beat myself up after.

I made it to Amatis' house in the dead of night, and I knocked on the door instead of walking in. I stood out there for a while, numb to the world, and kept wiping my running nose making it fell sensitive and raw. It still did not hit me.

She looked upset, "Seraphina? Where have you been?"

I did not feel anything. "I'm sorry," I mumbled, the tears fell.

"You should have been here, wait, what happened to you?" I remembered where I was before, and with whom. _Oh gawd_, how did this happen? It hit me full force. Like a freight train and I fell into her arms, sobbing, and repeating the same thing over and over.

"He doesn't love me,

He doesn't love me, h-

-e doesn't love me, he"-I couldn't breathe, "He doesn't," the tears made it hard to see.

After taking a hot shower and tucking me into bed she joined me.

"Take this," Amatis gave me a sleeping drought. I didn't have to ask her, and I was grateful that she stayed with me. She stroked my wet head while I rested on her stomach. She didn't say anything at all, but held me until I cried myself to sleep.

There are times when words are not needed, and this was one of those times. Before I went into my induced slumbrr the last thought in my mind was of his face as he smiled and laughed twirling my white rippling ribbon in the air. As I fell into deep sleep his face turned to pain as he crumbled to the ground lashes going across his chest and heart.

_Jon!_

I screamed at him to get up, looking around for the demons that were attacking him, and reaching for my seraph blade ready to counter back for the both of us.

"You were right," he said to me. He put his leaking blood on the side of my face, "you hurt me best." My seraph blade was already bloody, and it matched the marks on his body. I threw it away in horror as his eyes rolled back into his head.

_NO! Jon Nooo!_

_He died in my arms. I was trapped in the worst nightmare possible. In a world where I was the cause of Jonathan's hurt and eventual end. I started gasping oh my god this is reality, this feels so real! I am going to kill Jon if i keep this up! I pinched myself, slapped myself, but I could not wake. _

I had nightmares for the rest of the night. Sleep swallowing me whole, and reality mixing with the hallucinations of the wrongs I did to Jonathan Christopher, the man I loved.

* * *

**That was a really dark chapter, but of course this is not going to be a lovey dovey story. First I don't believe in those, and Sera is going to have a rude awakening when she learns love is not all she was told and thought to be true. **

**Love to see what you think! LOVE YOU ALL FOR YOUR TIME! YOU WILL SEE HER TRIAL THE FOLLOWING CHAPTER! And some Flashbacks too! The past and present are going to collide very soon!**

**BESOS,**

**beachchick3**


	3. Vulnerable

**Everything owned by Cassandra Clare, and of course Sera is mine. Is not the same as the other fic about Jon and Sera, I wrote this as an earlier version, but it really did not go anywhere. **

* * *

**Chapter 3**

**Vulnerable**

* * *

We went into the routine never questioning, questions lead to something not worth repeating. But Jonathan being the mindless ghoul he was could not resist, "Father," Jonathan began when we had turned nine years of age, "where is my mother?"

We both knew we could not ask such questions; mothers were myths. Here only the practice was reality. Father's hands shook; he breathlessly pulled back his pristine white hair, and the next thing stuck in my mind forever.

It surprised me. I flinched at the scene unfolding. Even though Jonathan had hurt me so many times, watching danger rush at him was the worst experience ever. Danger that escalated between both men that were of my blood, and both that I had lived with. Both I held filial affection for caused breathe to catch in my constricting throat. As Valentine latched onto his son's throat, mine burned. As his fingers curled around the base of his neck I saw a red rage haze that fogged my senses. Jonathan was not being evil, he was being curious. It was immensely more traumatizing that not even the evil Jonathan was being hurt.

No, the sweetness that Jonathan was even possible to possess suffered. It died that day.

Valentine Morgenstern dragged his son into a room, "What did I tell you about asking such questions. You never seem to obey even when I tell you specifically, teaching you respect will come at a greater price to that I assure you," He pulled onto his son as he held onto the edge of the door for dear life. "Stop fighting, you have accepted your fate," then Jonathan did something that Seraphina always thought impossible. He begged, like a child, for he was just a child then, "Please I promise not to ask any more questions, please father, please"—

Valentine tore his fingers off the ledge one by one, "I already made you a promise Jonathan. I promised that you would regret if you asked anything about your mother. You asked— about her after I forbade you from it, and know you must pay the price, come now son. Morgenstern men keep their promises"— Valentine dragged his son into the room with the flickering light. The light of the room swayed back in forth, in an angle catching the horror on Jonathan's face as he held to his father pleading, and Valentine with gritted teeth, and blazing eyes slammed the door. Valentine slammed the door so hard that the first blow was blocked out with the crash of glass from a framed photo.

Seraphina ran but it was too late. Her feet cracked on glass. She gambled with her better judgment and looked down at the mess.

The photo was of Jonathan when he was just a baby, with the wisps of white blond hair on his head, with Valentine adoringly holding him with the eyes of an expectant father. The glass on the ground shattered into a million pieces. Slap. Jonathan was in pain. Slap. It scared Seraphina shitless, and she instead of fighting off her father, ran away, pulling the covers to cover her head beneath the safety of the darkness. But she could hear the hits, and the slaps, and the yelps that turned into silence of death. Her face turned into the mattress, and her hands covering her ears, sticking her index into the hole like it would erase the sounds.

She held tight to the picture she had saved, until there were cresses too folded to fix.

But in the absence of sound she understood the metaphor to another type of death, and she felt no rejoice for this, no happiness. Jonathan's goodness died, and Seraphina's tears mourned.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Seraphina was forgotten. They had forgotten that I was there staring in fascination, slight surprise, and a sickness that made my stomach churn.

I could not apologize enough to Jonathan; for not helping against father. He didn't want my pathetic sympathy. I wanted to say so many things, such as the foreign sense of regret, and sadness I felt towards watching his beating. The sensation moved around in my gut making it difficult to convey into dialogue that would not sound empathetic. So I held my tongue. I was doing that a lot lately.

But, in reality I owed him, so that is what I told him, "Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern, look at me this instant." He was melodramatic and took forever to turn around like the drama queen he was, "It will make no difference if you sulk your days here, it gives me all of father's time, but as much as I find it difficult- I cannot complete father's wishes if you are not there," I added, "to be beaten by me."

I grabbed the hamper from the door, "How will I ever try the combat sequences to thin air, or stupid dummies, I need-" Seraphina stopped herself before she sounded emotional or needy, both things she was not.

The wolf smiled in victory, "Why am I not surprised? Of course you need me after all where would you be without me," Jonathan asked as he rolled off his bed climbing into hers. _Happy_, thought Seraphina, but she said nothing as he came closer to her side of the room. He was no longer an eight year old boy, he was teenager and his body proved it. She took out the pants folding them in a pile pretending not to care too much about his movements.

He was now slightly taller than her by a few inches, and his muscles on his chest had gotten slightly more defined from his training. Seraphina would not admit, she was intimidated by him. His muscled arms were stronger, and could easily choke her to death if she gave him the chance. He was dangerous, that was why she had several knives on her person at all times. They were no small children; they were twelve, _much much older_.

This would be an adult's fight. A fight, to the death as any young demon and demoness would be forced to undergo when the time came. Their fight could result in something more malignant than two small gashes across the abdomen. The heart, neck and head must be protected she noted.

His hands sought out to hers, and Seraphina let out a breathy laugh, at the thought of her brother touching her, and trying his manipulation on her_. As if!_

_She couldn't believe him,_ and her pompous laugh told him so. She mimicked the way of the older Shadow Hunter woman. The Shadow Hunter woman that came fancied her father; it was quite annoying and uncalled for. But the manner in which they acted was imprinted into her mind.

The way they turned coyly, there gazes direct, then dropped to the ground when they spoke of intimate things. The way they tried to attract the other males, to make them seem untouchable or desirable in the flare of a second. Their laughing was one of those things. One of complete power; they had breathy laughs, which controlled men's minds like dogs.

Seraphina wanted to be untouchable, "I doubt I shall ever need you, not if I am still of sane mind. Though who knows, a decade of you will be sure to push me over the brink. What do you say, are you going to drive me insane, or just test my patience," she crossed her arms.

_He is too close_, she dissected an escape route; no way was he going to have the upper hand.

But his eyes glistened with something she had never seen in him, something she didn't trust in the slightest. He was a manipulator; she had seen him with the other children. His dark eyes she at first wanted to lose herself in, only spoke of the harm they could do.

The harm in his eyes nailed into her subconscious to always be on the defensive, "Since you have always been the bossier one, I'll let you be the judge of what I do, or do not do. I do want to be a good brother to you, though _he_ seems to disagree."

Jonathan and his hate tantrums with Father were going to have to stop if he wanted to keep living here. But both of them were so headstrong. Seraphina folded the rest of her shirts, showing him the holes he made from being such a _good brother_, "it would be fair for me to agree with father, and say you need to play a little nicer."

Jonathan ruffled his snow white hair that he had cut short in rebellion against father, "But if we were arguing that I could say _you put just as many holes in my clothes_, and you don't see me complaining. But that is not what I was trying to say. When you look at it from my perspective, after father's silly training, and when everyone leaves one way or another," he inched forward his knee touched hers, "it will be just you and me," Jonathan quirked his lips in a fake smile, only she would now. _He was such a manipulator_. But yet again, so was she.

Seraphina subtly got off her own bed her back hitting the wall, "I will not lie to you _dear brother_. Though I would love to fill your mind with them, I won't. We are not friends. We are family, and the truth is I will never need you; you have no hold over me. With that said, It will be beneficial for you to come out of this room for your health, the maids can clean the mess you call a bed, while you can find something yourself to sustain that annoyingly loud growling stomach, and I can use you as a live dummy for my lessons. Is that clear enough?"

Seraphina watched as he climbed over the bed, heading towards her and blocking her only exit_. _

_He is too close_; she warned herself, but the way he calculatedly moved towards one person was both terrifying and beautiful. He had grown so much, and the beast inside of her recognized the beast in his to be of equal stature. One that had so much potential, so much danger came with him wherever he went, with every confident step. The way he flatly smirked at her body while she struggled against the wall while his bigger form moved forward was aggravating. He had the upper hand, and he wouldn't waste his chance. Looking into the eyes of the predator was quite different.

Never had I been on this side of the field. It made me feel vulnerable. Seraphina didn't do well with vulnerable.


	4. UPDATE ALERT

**Hello Everyone this is kind of a one-shot! If you want more of Jonathan and OC i suggest my other story! **

**I hope you enjoyed it**

**thanks for views!**

**beachchick3**


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